Note: In celebration of the 30th anniversary of the theatrical release of The Goonies, I will be sharing my own true "Goonies" story throughout the month of June. Thanks for reading, and remember: "Goonies never say die!"
“Chester Copperpot, he was a
pro. He didn’t make it this far.”
The phrase echoed through my head as I stood on the beach
at Smuggler’s Cove and stared up at Neahkahnie Mountain. Legend says that
somewhere on the hillside, buried deep beneath rock and dirt, rests a chest
full of riches—a pirate’s treasure that’s been hidden for over three hundred
years. Throughout the previous century thousands of people had searched the
mountain with little luck, but I figured my chances were as good as any.
My adventure started two days earlier. As I sat in my
Portland, Oregon apartment, surfing the internet for local legends, I came
across the story of Neahkahnie
Mountain, on the Oregon coast, and the legend of a buried treasure. I couldn’t
believe it; I had been living in Portland for nearly two years and never once
heard the story. The first thing that popped in my mind was the movie The Goonies.
One
thing you must understand is that I have seen The Goonies more times than any other film ever produced.
When it was released in 1985, I was merely three years old, so I didn’t have
the opportunity to see it in theaters, but growing up as a child my family
owned a copy of the VHS and I remember on rainy days, watching it over and over
again. And I remember on nice days, my friends and I imagining that we were “Goonies,”
reciting the many famous quotes, running around the woods behind our parents’
houses, pretending that we were on our own “Goonie” adventures. When I moved to
Oregon in 2008, within an hour of stepping foot on Oregon soil, I was standing
in front of the famed “Goonie House” in Astoria, calling my childhood friends,
telling them that they would “never believe where I was.”
So after reading about the treasure of Neahkahnie
Mountain, I immediately had my heart set on my own “Goonie” adventure. My
situation was not nearly as desperate as losing a house, but on a personal
level it had a similar feeling. I had been laid-off from my job and with my
savings dwindling fast I knew that discovering a long lost treasure could be my
saving grace. So I packed my bags and set off the next morning, traveling by
bicycle, just as the Goonies had.
The shortest distance from Portland to the Pacific coast
is approximately 80 miles. On a beautiful day, temperatures in the 70’s, and
not a cloud in the sky, I pedaled for hours on end, my imagination helping to
carry most of the weight. I felt relieved to be out of the bustling city,
leaving behind the hurry and the noise, the buildings and the crowds.
The Goonies found a map in an attic. I was relying on a
single sentence that I had discovered on the Internet: “Travel one mile east of
the beach at Neahkahnie to an enormous fir tree, then travel two hundred yards
south to a big rock.” It wasn’t much to go on. But I also found that the
Tillamook County Historical Museum housed some rocks recovered from the
mountain that apparently had clues engraved into them. I at least had a place
to start; off to Tillamook.
By the time I arrived, the museum had already closed for
the day, so I rode another eight miles south to Cape Lookout State Park. To my
surprise I was the only person in the entire hiker/biker camping area. It was
a weekday in mid-May, but with the extraordinary weather I thought for sure
there would be other adventurers traveling the coast. After a walk on the beach
and the enjoyment of a beautiful sunset, I was asleep early, exhausted from the
long ride.
It was early morning, 2 AM, when I woke, my body
shivering from the bitter cold. It couldn’t have been more than a few degrees
above freezing; the only sound was that of my teeth chattering. Having
forgotten a long sleeve shirt, and calisthenics doing little to reheat my body,
I spent the next two hours in the shower house, the warm water doing its best
to raise my temperature. Once the feeling in my fingers and toes returned, I
packed up my belongings and hit the road. The morning was still dark.
Taking the long way back to Tillamook, along the Three
Capes Scenic Route, I watched the stars disappear, black turn to blue, waves
crashing against amazing rock formations. The drastic grade of the steep hills
produced sweat and a heavy breath as I climbed toward the sunrise. And then the
self-created wind from flying down the backsides sent chills through my body
that forced an uncommon appreciation for inclines. By the time I returned to
town I felt like a million dollars, having recorded nearly twenty miles before
most people were even out of bed.
The museum didn’t open until 10am, so I spent the morning
tooling around town, having breakfast, visiting the library, and picking up
supplies (including a much needed long sleeved shirt). I was the first one
through the museum doors when they were eventually unlocked. The spectacular displays
that filled the ancient building were well worth the mere four dollar entry
fee. The outside, which hadn’t looked like much, appeared to double its size
indoors and was flooded with local, regional, and national history, along with
several scientific exhibits on animals, geology, and the natural world.
Immediately upon gazing through the very first room I entered, something
peculiar caught my eye. It sat in a glass case, about knee high, and was
approximately the size of a small shoebox. Its color was a mixture of grey and
tan, its texture smooth, almost slippery looking. Across its surface, large
numbers could clearly be made out. At once I knew exactly what it was:
beeswax. Probably not a clue, but it was definitely part of the puzzle.
To be continued...
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